


I Got Lost Following You

by Shadow0kana, The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Eventual Smut, Forgiveness, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hotels, Illustrated, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Masturbation, Mid-Canon, NSFW Art, Pining, Scotland, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow0kana/pseuds/Shadow0kana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: When Crowley gets up the nerve to ask Aziraphale on a date in the sixties, the angel's request to postpone it until later leads to misunderstandings and a decades-long rift between the two friends who were on the verge of becoming more.  Thirty years later, everything comes to a head when Aziraphale is sent to the Scottish Highlands for an assignment, Crowley close on his heels with orders to destroy all that Aziraphale has built up.  Can the two repair their friendship and realize their relationship runs deeper while working towards opposite goals?(Some tags are for future chapters)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. The Effects of Holy Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizabethelizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/gifts).



> This Reverse Bang idea was originally elizabeththeelizabeth's and included a play list from which I pull the lyrics in this fic. I developed the basic ideas with her on it before real life forced her to drop out. The awesome Shadow0Kana was kind enough to pinch hit for me and produce the wonderful artwork. I'm gifting this to Liz because essentially this fic is the work of three people. Without her submitting the original idea and coming up with an outline with me (as well as providing resources on the Scottish Highlands), this piece would have never been created.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not going well between Heaven and Hell's field agents when Aziraphale is handed a long-term assignment in Scotland.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said as they sat together in the Bentley back in ‘67, Crowley clutching a tartan Thermos full of holy water.

The angel smiled slightly before exiting the Bentley, leaving Crowley sitting at the kerb in possession of the holy water he thought he would have to steal and the distinct feeling that Aziraphale now, after all these centuries, loved him back. Crowley carefully set the Thermos on the passenger seat and leaned his head back to think about this change of events.

~*~*~

“How about dinner at the Ritz?” he had asked two days later while hanging around the bookshop trying to get a feel for this subtle change in their relationship. He was still confused about what had just happened, and just a touch afraid.

“Oh . . .” Aziraphale looked caught off-guard. “I . . . I wasn’t expecting it this soon, my dear fellow. I just figured it would be something we did in the future when we weren’t up to our elbows in our jobs.”

They were, Crowley had to admit. The sixties were a period of unrest and the assignments kept coming at them at a dizzying pace these days since a young black man, Paul Stevenson, took inspiration from America’s Rosa Parks and started a bus boycott of his own. Aziraphale did a lot to keep the civil rights protesters safe; Crowley outright ignored his orders, telling Hell instead that he had had a hand in it whenever the humans got heated enough to start throwing rocks at each other. They hardly needed his guidance any more. He failed to understand the principles behind discriminating against people because of skin colour, anyway.

“Yes. Of course. Just thought I’d check on that. You never know.” Crowley straightened the lapels of his black Beatlesque jacket to hide his own embarrassment. “Didn’t want to be rude. Guess I’ll be popping along now. See you later.”

He walked out, not noticing the look of worry and concern that Aziraphale gave him as he headed out the door to the Bentley, but he heard the lyrics loud and clear in his head. He always heard the lyrics of songs — past and present, and even of songs that had yet to be written. All demons had some kind of minor clairvoyance, you might call it, and Crowley’s revolved around music.

_But as the tide retreats_   
_It's showing me the shore_   
_There's danger going deeper_   
_But I can't be here any more_   
_Can't be here any more [1]_

He didn’t return for a few years.

~*~*~

_Early 2000s, before the birth of the Antichrist_

Gabriel rarely came down to Earth to meet with Aziraphale, 1800 being the last time. He would show up for other activities — a jog in the park, a fitting for a bespoke suit, but a face-to-face with Heaven’s bumbling idiot of a field agent was one thing he avoided whenever he could. If he wanted to give Aziraphale instructions, he usually sent down a note, and this is exactly what he did this time.

Aziraphale heard the pop as the thick packet appeared in its usual place on his desk to his sinking disappointment. He felt like he was finally making headway with Crowley after a few decades of him acting very strangely around him. They were at least doing lunch once a week which was a vast improvement on awkward conversations and Crowley disappearing entirely for weeks on end. Aziraphale could trace it all back to his declining to have lunch with Crowley while they were busy with assignment after assignment in the ‘60s, but still didn’t quite understand why Crowley took it so badly. They were not only both very involved in the events of the day, but being watched rather closely during that historical time. It would have been disastrous if they had been seen together having a picnic or dining at the Ritz, to put it mildly.

He went behind to the till and over to pick it up, breaking Gabriel’s wax seal to open it and read the contents. 

_Aziraphale,_

_It seems we have run into a bit of a problem up in Inverness, Scotland. The Highland Archive Centre there made some poor choices a few decades ago when preserving documents, and they’re now starting to disintegrate. You know that we have spent much time cultivating a good attitude in the city. We gain many souls from its citizens. Part of that is because of the careful history we put into place there. That is now in danger if those documents are lost. They speak of choices made that helped make Inverness the happy place it is today. _

_We are in a war of souls with Hell. We cannot afford to lose a good city to them, especially since Manchester is giving them such gains. I must ask you to head to Inverness to help save those documents because the humans who live there cannot be forgetting their past. We cannot trust them to stay on the right track without a good past as an example of how to live their lives. This assignment will take about nine months to a year at the scribes’ best estimates. But because you’ve spent so much time on Earth worrying about humans’ paper-based material items and frivolously collecting them, you’re the best suited to restoring them._

_A list of them is enclosed._

_I expect you’ll be up there within the week._

_-Gabriel_

Sighing he set down the letter, trying his best to ignore the barb about his book collection. He couldn’t leave the bookshop unattended for a year. Yes, he would close up shop, but he would feel better if an eye or two was being kept on the vacant building while he was away. Hopefully, Crowley would be amenable to performing this small task for him, despite the weird turn of their relationship over the past few decades. He reached over beside his desk and picked up the telephone. 

Failing to raise Crowley on the phone, Aziraphale got on with the task of informing Gabriel he had read his letter and would be in Inverness by the end of the week. While he agreed that saving original documents was a task of great importance, Gabriel was behaving like the knowledge would be lost forever if he didn’t act as soon as possible. Was Heaven unaware that humans did possess the ability to copy information so it was not lost? No matter, he was not getting out of this. He had his marching orders.

He seated himself at his desk, picked up a fresh sheet of paper, his fountain pen and began to write.

_Gabriel,_

_I will be up in Inverness within the week. Once there, I will do all that is in my power to save the documents as you have requested._

_Yours cordially,_

_Aziraphale_

Within an hour, he had an answer to his letter on his desk.

_Great. We’re all counting on you. Be as quick about it as possible. I don’t like the idea of allowing Hell’s field agent (is it the demon Crowley?) to tempt without being thwarted for too long. It’s not good for business. We have a man up there right now setting everything up for you. You’ll be the expert in document preservation that the archives will be expecting._

_-G_

That part was over, at least. Now all he had to do was get a hold of Crowley. Until then, he started preparations for leaving the bookshop alone for an extended period of time. With any luck, he could preserve the damaged documents lickity-split and return in no time flat. “Until then”, such a loaded phrase . . . he gave the books piled next to his desk a fond caress. Each one would be missed. Just as Crowley would.

~*~*~

The phone on his desk was ringing in the most irritating manner, prompting Crowley to groan loudly, roll over and slam the pillow over his head. He knew who it was. There was only one person in this whole stupid world who called him on his private line. Aziraphale. He allowed it to go to his old ansaphone, falling back asleep instead. Aziraphale was patient, making it easy to call him later with the excuse he was out. He did have a mobile, but Aziraphale only contacted him via landline.

Two hours later he was awakened again by the shrill sound of the phone in the office ringing.

“ _Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style._ ” 

BEEP.

“ _Crowley? Are you there? Hello?_ ”

“No, I’m not. Go away,” he muttered.

“ _I’m leaving for nine months to a year on an assignment in Inverness. I really do need someone to look after the bookshop while I’m gone. You know, just check in on it onc_ . . .” 

The machine beeped, cutting Aziraphale off. Sighing, Crowley rolled over, slapping his hand on the dark wooden nightstand beside him and fumbling around for his mobile. It was the best model, of course, a sleek number with a rear camera, a video player and a music player. Everyone else could keep those small bricks that just were good for calls and texts. Long fingers grasped at it, bringing it to him, so he could punch the buttons that speed-dialled the angel. Laying back on the pillow, he listened as it rang. 

“ _A.Z. Fell and Company. How may we help you?_ ”

“Aziraphale, it’s me.”

“ _Crowley! Is there any way you can come over? I’m going on assignment and I need someone to check on the bookshop once in a while._ ”

“Yeah, I can come right over.”

He hung up without waiting for further conversation.

Grudgingly he slid out of bed, dressed and stalked down to the Bentley. Climbing in, he pulled out into traffic with some aggressive handling of the gear shift, which made the car baulk. It never liked it when he drove angry, but he ignored the complaining this time, telling the Bentley to behave. He slotted a Mozart CD into the Blaupunkt, listening as it quickly morphed into Queen, but it wasn’t the usual Queen. The song was identifiable as the band’s, but it was being sung by some Scottish group Crowley was unfamiliar with. He sighed at the car.

“I’m sorry. It’s Aziraphale.”

The volume rose on the Blaupunkt. 

_You're my sunshine and I want you to know_   
_That my feelings are true_   
_I really love you_   
_Oh, you're my best friend_   
_Ooh, you make me live[2]_

“When did you get vindictive?” Crowley muttered as he turned it back down. “That’s not even proper Queen.”

They roared on down the street at breakneck speed. It wasn’t much further of a drive before Crowley was pulling up to the bookshop, parking in his usual off-limits spot, the double no parking lines rolling back upon the Bentley’s approach. The pavement was crowded with shoppers and tourists, but nobody seemed to notice the sudden change in parking permissions in front of the old building. Shutting off the car and jumping out, he walked into the bookshop without so much as bothering to knock. 

“Aziraphale!”

“Over here, Crowley.” Aziraphale nervously stepped out from a knee-high pile of books he was trying to find space for on his shelves and threw his arm out in a gesture towards the couch. “Have a seat, please. Would you like some tea? Possibly something stronger now that it’s afternoon?”

“No, thanks.” He continued to stand in the doorway. “I’m kind of busy today.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sounded disappointed. “I apologise for interrupting you, then.”

Crowley shrugged. He wasn’t sure how to take Aziraphale’s efforts to reach out to him these days. How do you shoot someone down as Aziraphale did then act like you want more? 

“I . . . I was hoping we could sit down and actually talk.” Aziraphale had approached him, standing rather close now but still outside Crowley’s personal bubble as if afraid getting too close would cause the demon to flee. Sky blue eyes pleaded with him, wishing that Crowley would understand he never meant to hurt him in any way. 

“What do you need?” Crowley had taken off the sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, an excuse to not have to make eye contact with the angel. He couldn’t look him in the eye right now just like he couldn’t sit down and have a nice talk like they used to before everything fell apart. “I understand we still need to depend on each other as part of the Arrangement, and we’re doing lunches to exchange needed information, but . . . well . . . I can’t do more than that.”

“I was just hoping we could mend bridges. It’s been decades, Crowley, and I miss our friendship.”

“It’s ‘mend fences’, Aziraphale,” sighed Crowley, losing his patience as he jammed his glasses back on his face. “What do you need me to do? Check on the bookshop once in a while and make sure nobody’s bothered it?”

“Yes. I’m going to Inverness on assignment for nine months to a year.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I was hoping we could part on good terms."

“Congratulations. I hear it’s nice up there. Nothing like the Scottish Highlands. I hope you’ll have time to enjoy it.”

“Yes, I hear it is.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In three days.”

“I’ll check on it once a week.”

“Thank you, Crowley.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”

Crowley gave a curt nod as he exited, Aziraphale sadly watching him go and wishing he had the courage to run after him to beg his forgiveness for his transgressions of so many years ago. Instead, he returned to sorting his books as he pondered which ones to pack. But the preparations he went over in his mind for the rest of the afternoon did little to banish thoughts of Crowley from it. Eventually, he sat down at the table in the backroom with a cup of tea, trying not to feel depressed about the entire situation. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe if he took a long absence, it would allow Crowley the chance to heal some of his wounds. Maybe they could start over when Aziraphale returned. The bit of hope he felt upon that reflection buoyed his spirits a little as he sipped at his tea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 1\. KT Tunstall, "Lost"↩
> 
> 2\.  The Supernaturals, “You’re My Best Friend” cover↩


	2. When Hell Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is ordered to Inverness to cause trouble even though Heaven has claimed it as its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadow0Kana needs to take a break from this due to real life, so this fic will be going on hiatus for a while until she is ready to draw again.
> 
> Content warning: There's a bit of talk of purposely discorporating to avoid being sent on assignment. I don't know if that could be viewed as equal to suicidal thoughts since it's more a case of "If I don't have a body, I can't be sent on assignment" than any sort of thinking that would precipitate a suicide attempt, but better safe than sorry. The scene takes place in the last two paragraphs of the chapter's first section.

_Six Months Later_

Feeling depressed, Crowley sat on his couch stuffing crisps into his mouth while he watched _Robot Wars_ on the television for lack of anything more worthwhile to do with his time. Sleep had lost its lustre, and he had already been by the bookshop several times this week to make sure nobody was running off with anything. As if they would. He had learned over the years spending time with Aziraphale that it was hard to steal a rare book then turn around and fence it. All the booksellers knew each other and word got around that that perfectly lovely copy of _British Botany_ by John C. Smith, whom had nothing better to do with his time than hang around English moors studying heather, was taken from Barnaby’s Rare Books. You know, the one that was a bit foxed, but still in fairly good condition, considering. And suddenly, the thief, who tries to sell it at The Pen and Vine, is not only handing the book over for some cash but leaving his name and address, too, because they’re always on the lookout for good specimens and their clerk is superb at flattery. Barnaby’s has their book back and the thief had the police at their door.

No, Crowley wasn’t worried about Aziraphale’s bookshop at all. It would keep itself quite nicely. Unlike Crowley, who was having trouble keeping himself entertained. Usually, he liked _Robot Wars_. Clever humans building wonderful remote control machines, then setting them loose in a ring to battle each other until one had torn the other to shreds. It was so very . . . well . . . _human_ — create something technologically advanced, then use it as a weapon to take out someone else’s shiny new gadget. Crowley had seen that played out many times on a global scale over the centuries. Even when they had the means to make everyone’s life a little better with their scientific advances, they had to first use it to make someone else’s life a lot more miserable. He flicked off the television as he licked the salt and grease from the crisps off his fingers.

Even though their friendship was hanging by a thread, Crowley’s mental state was sliding without Aziraphale around even if he was going to be stubborn about admitting to that.

_I'm sorry if I ever let you down_   
_Do you feel lost?_   
_'Cause I feel it now [3] _

He laid back on a red throw pillow on the grey leather sofa and stared at the bare lighter grey walls before sitting back up to look down over his knees at the plush white carpet below. He should really get new carpet. Maybe upgrade the television now that they had these plasma displays. They were expensive, but it’s not like money was an issue. He could afford whatever he wanted. Yeah, that’s what he’d do tomorrow. Go shopping for a new television. It would be something to do. Assignments were few, tempting was boring and there were only so many pointless conversations he could have with his neighbours while waiting for the lift. The weather didn’t concern him as no raindrop would fall on him if he didn’t desire it to do so. 

“ _Crowley!_ ”

He looked up from his examination of the living room carpet he was pondering replacing to see Hastur’s face on the television’s screen. Like he wanted to see that in all its pox-ridden glory on the large screen before him. Inwardly, he groaned. Outwardly, his lips curled up into a sharp smile.

“Yeah?”

“ _Don’t you have tempting to be doing, you little snake? That angel is out of town, and you’re sitting around on your arse._ ”

“I went shopping today. Put a lot of counterfeit money into circulation. Causing a recession takes time, you know.” 

It was a lie. He hadn’t left the flat in two days, but Hastur had no clue what the economy was, let alone a recession. He’d play along to look knowledgeable about Earth. Crowley watched him nod, a stiff smile frozen on his stupid face.

“ _Oh. Right. And recessions are bad._ ”

“Yes. The markets collapse, people are out of jobs, human misery happening all over the place. You just have to give me time to get it all set up.”

“ _Better do it quickly because you’re due in Inverness in five days._ ”

Inverness. That’s where Aziraphale was. Crowley groaned inwardly, not remotely interested in his counterpart’s attempts to make things right. He’d rather eat glass.

“Scotland? But . . . Heaven’s made claim to Inverness. We got Glasgow, remember?”

Hastur gave him a nasty smile. “ _And it’s time things changed. They’re quite proud of their archives up there. It’s one of the best sources documenting the area’s history. Why don’t you go burn it down? When you’ve done that, I’ll give you another landmark to destroy until the people are demoralised. We’re going to take this island and chase the angel off of it._ ”

“And that place is constantly crawling with angels. You know they keep a close eye on it. The happiest place in Scotland or something. I’ll end up smote.”

“ _Don’t do any miracles. You’ll be fine. All it takes to burn down a building are matches and some petrol. Five days, Crowley._ ”

The television clicked back off and Crowley ran a hand through his hair, done in the longish straight layers _en vogue_ right now. Crowley flopped back on the couch and wished he could suffocate himself with one of the throw pillows. How was he going to do this while avoiding Aziraphale? They’d run into each other. They always did. Maybe he could go step out into traffic. 

_Cars are tricky buggers, never know when some stupid driver will slam right into you. Happens all the time. Car-pedestrian accidents are a leading cause of death in London. Dammit, now I’m going to have to fill out paperwork and wait for the Office of Corporeal Requisitions to approve my request for a new body. Please accept my deepest apologies. I was so looking forward to going to Inverness. I was packed and everything. Just happily waiting to be smote. Fun times._

~*~*~

The city was getting more crowded now that the Inverness Games were right around the corner with all the spectators and athletes gathering for opening ceremonies in two days. Aziraphale thanked his lucky stars this assignment started in winter when tourism was slower and no large events were taking place, for now, there was not a hotel room within a hundred miles of the city. He brushed past two women engaging in some gossip after running into each other as he got off the bus a short walk from his hotel. It was a quaint building made to look like a stone palace with rooms decorated in a plush modern-meets-Victorian style inside. The place boasted a spa, too, with everything from massages to manicures to a nice pool Aziraphale had only used twice to an exercise area with a sauna he had never set foot in. He was thinking that maybe he’d get a manicure done tomorrow since it was his day off.

For now, he trudged up to his room on the second floor, a wonderful little suite with a small living room on one side of a partition, the full-sized bed on the other, a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom with a tub. He entered the bathroom first to start the tub filling with hot water and a vanilla-scented bubble bath. Next, he went to the mini-fridge for the bottle of a very nice Riesling he picked up the other day. He pulled his wine glass out of the drying rack by the sink and poured himself a glass. Going to sit in the small living room with its one couch and chair situated in front of a bay window, he sat down to watch the River Ness flow by while he waited for the tub to fill. It would take about a glass of wine for that to occur. He would procure another as he walked by the kitchenette.

The nearly endless green he looked out upon was a refreshing change from the buildings and pavement of London. His view consisted of a stretch of grass before the river itself then the hills beyond the far riverbank where Inverness Castle sat perched. It really was a lovely view of the newest castle to occupy that particular cliff. Aziraphale did recall seeing the original one under construction back in the 1100s and several had been built and destroyed on that spot over the centuries. He rather liked the latest as it was constructed in the 1800s in a Victorian style. 

He was about finished with his wine, which meant it was time to check the bath. Having hung his coat in the cupboard by the door with his shoes placed below it, he took off his waistcoat and bowtie, leaving them on the bed. Another glass of wine was next and that was left by the bathroom sink as he stripped off the rest of his clothes and fetched it before sinking into the hot water to soak for half an hour or longer, depending on his mood. He took in a cleansing breath through his mouth, exhaling it out his nose. This was nice. A relaxing bubble bath after a day working an assignment that wasn’t too difficult, and he hadn’t even thought of Crowley in a while.

Well, darn. Now he had. He felt his mood fall instantly. The wine glass was unceremoniously emptied and the bottle miracled beside the tub, conveniently nearby. He could start on a third in an attempt to reclaim the peace he just ruined by thinking about that demon. Aziraphale had made an effort to not spend one moment of time on him, concentrating instead on his assignment, the attractions in and around the city and the overall beauty of the Highlands. He had thought about it long and hard, deciding that he needed to reign in his lovesick attitude. Desperate was not a good look and if he was going to win Crowley’s friendship back, then he was going to have to be mentally in a place for it, just as Crowley was. Aziraphale was determined that this separation would be good for both of them. 

He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the tub with the wine glass clutched in one hand. Tonight he was going to relax no matter what.

~*~*~

Aziraphale was enjoying a nice cup of mocha with a book at the café of his hotel a few days later. The sun was setting, turning the river outside the window by his table a beautiful shade of orange that sparkled with the flow of the water. He looked out upon it, pleased with himself for the day’s work. He had managed to finish restoring one document today that he had spent weeks on deacidifying, flattening then repairing tears with Japanese tissue of appropriate sizes and the same shade as the yellowed paper. Copies had been made before he began work on it, but he barely understood the whole process of scanning a document to make an image that was then saved on what humans called a database on a server. What an age they lived in. Crowley probably would have comprehended all that technology as it was explained, but Aziraphale hadn’t reached that level of comfort with most modern conveniences like that.

No. No thinking of Crowley. No pining after him. None of that. This time away was supposed to be cleansing. He was supposed to concentrate on his work and adjust his thought processes then upon return to London, be able to present a version of himself that Crowley might find less desperate and needy. Yes, that was the plan. Must stick to it. But such a thought left his head as he rose to his feet, astonished, as he gazed upon the skinny redhead dressed in black who stalked by to the wine bar portion of the café.

“What’s a good red here?” the skinny redhead asked.

Aziraphale couldn’t decipher the bartender’s actual response as she made some suggestions to Crowley. Her voice was simply one more buzzing in his head with the rest of the ambient noise of the café as the rush of blood roared to life in his ears and a state of panic descended upon him. Crowley could not _be_ here! Crowley was supposed to be in London watching over the bookshop! Instead, he was invading Aziraphale’s time away from the whole situation they had got themselves involved in. How dare he!

As suddenly as it had washed over him, his anger faded away into the sea of relative calm that resided inside him. Crowley would not be here if he didn’t have a good reason. Their whole friendship might be in tatters, but he respected Aziraphale’s need to do his job without undue interference. Either he had reason to contact the angel, or he was once again crossing paths with him on assignment. It was a common enough occurrence over the years. 

Now Aziraphale had a choice — did he ignore Crowley’s presence unless the demon took it upon himself to notice him or did he speak up? He turned it over in his head until curiosity got the better of him, and he approached Crowley’s table. His counterpart sat, a sour look on his face, sipping the red the bartender had persuaded him to purchase. Crowley stood up in rapid shock almost spilling it down himself. Aziraphale could see he was clutching the glass almost tight enough to break the stem.

“Good afternoon, Crowley. What brings you to Inverness? I would just like to know, so I can stay out of your way if you’re on assignment.”

“Oh, yeah . . . hi.” Crowley swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple dancing along his throat. “Assignment. That’s all. I’m just looking for a good way to get out of it since Hell’s not even supposed to be messing around up here.”

“Well, good luck finding a room to stay in. There isn’t going to be one in a hundred-mile radius of here because of the Games.”

“I’ve noticed. I’ve been trying all day with no success. I went as far as Aberdeen. Hastur’s not going to let me off the hook easy, even if you’re here. The best I can do is keep delaying by failing to do my mission until Hell decides to give up.”

“What are you meant to do?”

Crowley sighed. “Hell thinks Heaven has too much influence up here. I’m to take out landmarks to demoralise people. Starting with the Archives.”

“What? Destroy the Archives? Crowley, you can’t! You wouldn’t! You helped me save what scrolls I could from Alexandria!” 

Aziraphale sank into the chair across from him, knees too weak to hold him up. Crowley was all business now; their personal problems were not on the table. This was bigger than those. He set aside his wine glass to look Aziraphale in the eye the best he could while wearing a pair of dark glasses. He leaned forward, his mouth drawn into a serious line. 

“You know I will do what I can to get around this. You need to do what you can to secure documents and make sure people are safe. Give me time to think of something. You being here will mean I can stall, especially if you’re working in the Archives. I doubt Hell wants to announce that it’s trying to get a foothold in one of Heaven’s claimed territories.” He took a drink. “Oh, yeah, I warded the bookshop. It should be fine while we’re here. Listen, I got to find a place for the night, or I’m going to be sleeping in the backseat of the Bentley and that’s just not comfortable.”

“You can stay with me.” Aziraphale winced. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, and now he felt like fleeing upstairs to the room he offered up, slamming the door shut never to come out again. “Nothing personal. I’ll get on with my business, you do yours. I’m only offering to make it easier to work together to keep the Archives in one piece. I know how you feel about me right now, Crowley. Hence, I won’t impose on those feelings.”

Did that sound good? Not too much like he was backpedalling?

Crowley shrugged in an attempt to appear indifferent. “All right. One night shouldn’t hurt.”

“No, it won’t at all.” Aziraphale fished out a key to hand to him. “Room 216.”

The angel departed, leaving Crowley there with his wine and a gnawing feeling that grew to encompass his entire stomach. He didn’t think Aziraphale was playing silly buggers or anything, but he was still going to step very carefully all the same. The music in his head blared at him loud enough that he hoped to Hell Aziraphale couldn’t hear it as he walked away.

_You're the last thing I want_   
_I'd love to stay here_   
_You're the last thing I want_   
_I'd love to live here [4] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 3\.  Wrest, “Human”↩
> 
> 4\.  We Were Promised Jetpacks, “An Almighty Thud”↩
> 
> The hotel Aziraphale is staying at is the Inverness Palace Hotel. It does look like a palace, has all the amenities I listed, and a nice view of the River Ness and Inverness Castle. I figured Aziraphale would really like it. His suite is fictional, though. I needed a good setup to put both him and Crowley in. The Highland Archives Centre is real, too. It is responsible for preserving and making available any documents related to the history of the area. Documents it has collected date back to the 14th Century. I imagine Crowley would find those documents very dull.


	3. Smitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's plan to get out of his assignment and get out of town backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for the last scene, which includes making out while drunk. Everything is halted before it wanders into dubcon or noncon territory. My little scene break design will be underlined, so you can stop there if such content would be uncomfortable to read. End notes will contain a summary of the important parts of that scene

Crowley fled into the crowded city, avoiding heading up to the hotel room for as long as possible. Currently, he was wandering the Inverness Botanic Gardens, winding his way through the hothouse looking at spectacular examples of subtropical trees and plants that couldn’t hold a candle to his own back home. He had hired a service to come water them, which meant they would slack off while he was gone, and he’d come home to leaf spots, but it couldn’t be helped. The frustration he felt in conjunction with this particular assignment was running sky-high, which meant the plants would remember their place again in no time once he took it all out on that lot. Until then, he’d have to keep his skill honed on other hapless subjects.

“Look alive,” he hissed at a slightly drooping orchid.

The plant, realising he was not one to be messed with, slowly pulled itself up straighter. Satisfied, Crowley strolled on to stare into the pool feature of the garden. Some rather large goldfish stared back at him, mouths gaping at the surface of the water as they begged for food. He was aware they had a proper name which Aziraphale had lectured him about when he once mistakenly referred to them as goldfish in his presence. Blah, blah blah. Not related to goldfish. Blah, blah, blah. Bred in Japan. Blah, blah, blah. Ancient hobby. Whatever. Watching them for a moment as they slithered over each other, jockeying for prime positions at the surface, he curled up his lip in distaste before moving on. One would think humans could have bred some brains into them after all these centuries.

An announcement went out that the gardens were closing. Crowley stalked out knowing his opportunities to avoid the hotel were quickly coming to an end unless he wanted to find himself a convenient drinking establishment. But the likes of a pub or a nightclub were not appealing. He was in no mood for dancing and consuming alcohol was the last thing he needed to do before having to spend a night in a confined space with Aziraphale. True, he could vanish alcohol from his bloodstream, no problem. It was just that it would be too appealing to _not to._

 _Sometimes, it doesn't do to do_  
_Sometimes, it doesn't do_  
_I never said I was good_ [5]

“No,” whispered Crowley to the lyrics in his mind. “I’m not good, but I’m not going to do _that_. Sober it is.”

He turned the Bentley towards the hotel, speeding past several pubs without stopping.

~*~*~

Aziraphale stood at the window looking out over the River Ness while he fidgeted, pulling down his waistcoat, getting out his pocket watch only to run his fingers over it before putting it away while sternly telling himself he checked the time five minutes previously. Crowley would come or he wouldn’t. It was the waiting to find out that was hard, he admitted.

Lord, this was a bad idea. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut and stay away from Crowley. How could they heal enough to have the chance to try again if he just kept on mucking everything up like he always did? Love sometimes meant letting go, but Aziraphale had not done that yet. He was not respecting Crowley’s right to be autonomous and walk away if he so desired. Instead, Aziraphale had been so drowning in the fear of losing his only friend, he had clung to him even as Crowley, wounded by Aziraphale’s poorly worded postponement of their potential date, tried to flee the humiliation of it. Maybe if he had let him go, let Crowley cool down and given himself needed time to think, he could have approached the demon with a heartfelt apology. They would have had that chance to talk it out. 

The door rattled as the key was slid into the lock. Aziraphale turned to see Crowley enter, looking frazzled. Oh, God . . . this was stressing Crowley out. 

Aziraphale swallowed anxiously. “Good evening.” A beat passed as he gathered the courage to say what needed to be said. “I shouldn’t have invited you to share the room with me. I should have simply given it to you because I can always stay in the Archives. A little miracle or two to obscure the security cameras, you know. It would be extra time to get my projects done. In fact, I can pack my stuff, put it in a pocket dimension and . . .”

“And what? Be a martyr when you don’t need to be?” The weariness of Crowley’s voice was not lost on Aziraphale. “We’ve had to hole up together before in tough situations. We can do it again. You have your books. I can order films and sleep. It’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale allowed an unsure smile to cross his face. “Are . . . are you sure?”

“I’m sure, angel. I don’t have the energy right now to argue about it. Please?”

“Yes, we can work it out. Umm, I was just about to head out to dinner, so I’ll see you later.”

Aziraphale left, even though he hadn’t so much as thought about choices of restaurants to eat at tonight. He’d find one in the neighbourhood with palatable cuisine to spend a couple of hours at. Arriving in the lobby, he headed out the door and kept an eye out for a place that looked decent and not too crowded.

Meanwhile, Crowley sighed before collapsing on the couch, mentally exhausted. Picking up the remote, he turned it on only to have it flicker and Hastur appear in place of the screen telling of all the pay-per-view films he could order.

“ _So, are you there yet?_ ”

Crowley gestured at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Of course I am. When have I ever not gone on assignment when ordered to?”

“ _Good. Any problems so far?_ ”

“I just got here and found a hotel room. It’s a bitch to find a place to stay during the tourist season.”

 _"Get yourself to the Archives as soon as possible. Do your job if you can or report back if there’s a major problem._ ”

The television returned to its pay-per-view advertisement screen as Crowley exhaled in relief. He had just bought himself a bit of time if he played it right. Not feeling like a film now, he snapped his fingers, changing into his black silk pyjamas. He sauntered into the bedroom, annoyed there was only a doorway between it and the living room. Sighing, he crawled under the bed covers for a bit of sleep. 

He awoke about two and a half hours later when Aziraphale returned. He was always the light sleeper when he was somewhere other than his own bed, awakened even by the sounds of the angel being as quiet as possible in the hallway. Crowley sat up and turned the light on, blinking heavily as he reached for his sunglasses on the nightstand. He wouldn’t have them off around Aziraphale any more, a detail that was like a painful arrow piercing the angel’s heart. 

“Oh, I apologise. I didn’t realise you would be in bed already.”

“Nothin’ better to do.”

Aziraphale nodded and pointed to the small sitting area beyond the bedroom space. “I’m going to go read. If you want to talk, let me know. And feel free to move the television over. I won’t be using it.”

The television disappeared to pop back into existence on the dresser across the room from the bed. 

“Thanks.”

Aziraphale heard it turn on. Disappointed, he picked up the book he was reading from the table beside the couch to lose himself in before he started to overthink things. He had chosen a novel by an up and coming Scottish author born right here in Inverness and was rather enjoying her work. The novel itself was written in a postmodern style, which was not always his cup of tea, but the plot was engaging enough for him to want to finish it. He devoured it by morning, ignoring the television blaring in the background for most of the night. 

Behind the partial wall, Crowley watched his fill of television before settling back down to sleep until morning, alone with his thoughts and the aura of the angel across the way that was very noticeable to him from this small distance. It would have been nice to go talk to Aziraphale, but he held back. It would only give a false hope — Aziraphale would believe he was ready to give their relationship a try again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t risk that kind of rejection again. How long would it be before Aziraphale allowed all of Heaven’s brainwashing to take over, once again pushing him away? Crowley was not about to be burnt a second time. He had had to slink away once before to lick his wounds. There was no desire to repeat that painful experience.

 _You get what you give_  
_And only then just enough_ [6]

_I’m not giving him the opportunity to hurt me again._

Slamming the pillow over his head, he tried to forget where he was along with everything that was currently going on. He awoke again the next morning as he heard the door shut behind Aziraphale. 

Getting up, he took a shower for the comfort hot water brought him then headed down to one of the restaurants in the hotel for a bit of breakfast. Scanning the area first, he saw no sign of Aziraphale, feeling safe enough to order a light meal before he got to work. He did have a job to fake his way through, or he’d be at home doing something more interesting with his life. Most of the time that involved something like causing traffic jams for his own amusement before attending an art show. Later, he would drink the night away at some club where he would throughly enjoy himself in the most shallow of ways.

He peered out across the river at the castle that looked like the kind of place Aziraphale would enjoy visiting. Snorting derisively, he turned back to his cup of coffee, finishing it off before paying the bill and heading out to the Bentley. It was still parked where he left it, illegal spot be damned. Burning the ticket on the windscreen, he made sure the copy in the police’s custody disappeared from the records as well. Giving his baby a loving caress, he got in and drove to the Archives.

~*~*~

_Why is he here? He said he wasn’t going to do anything!_

Aziraphale exhaled a frustrated breath then put aside the camera he was using to take photographs of the next document to be restored. Turning off the lightbox the document was sitting on to reduce the damage done to it, he turned to his fellow conservators, reaching into his trousers pocket for a swiftly conjured-up packet of cigarettes. 

“If I don’t take a quick smoke break, I’m going to go mad here,” he said in apologetic tones.

“Don’t worry about it,” one of them replied. “Not like it’s going to fall apart while you’re gone.”

Aziraphale excused himself, following Crowley’s demonic “scent” to the location where it was strongest. Once there, he lit a cig and smoked it while he waited. It wasn’t very long before the demon approached him.

“That’s a nasty habit.”

“It isn’t a habit, and you know it. I despise the taste of nicotine, but it’s a great excuse to get outside to see what certain demons are up to. I thought you said you were going to hold off?”

“I am.” Crowley leaned up against the side of the building, arms crossed. “But I need to look like I’m doing something. Smite one of the bushes here or something. Make it appear like I came slithering around to light things on fire, but you caught me before I could act.”

“Crowley, I’ll have to report the smiting. You know that!”

“It’ll be a feather in your wing. Reporting to Gabriel you thwarted a demon intent on causing harm to the Archives. Also, Hell will be skittish about sending me back in. They’ll think this place will be crawling with angels. Meanwhile, I can go home to keep an eye on your bookshop.”

He smiled upon dangling that little morsel of incentive in front of Aziraphale, who stood before him obviously very indecisive about the entire situation. He took another puff of his cigarette, trying not to make a face as he inhaled the smoke. Crowley waited patiently, finally receiving a glare from the angel who smoked the last of the cig, only to keep Crowley cooling his heels, before vanishing the dog-end. 

“Back up, please. I’d rather not send you to Hell. I know how much you hate having to take a holiday there while waiting for a new body.”

Crowley gave him a wide berth, adding a few dark clouds drifting in from the southwest to give a reason for the crack of thunder that was soon going to happen. Aziraphale was watching for a signal he was far enough away. He gave a thumbs up when he was comfortable with the distance between them. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end with the drawing of angelic power followed by a boom that nearly split his eardrums. Ridding himself of the ringing in his ears, he gave Aziraphale a thank you before taking off. 

Both Heaven and Hell would be aware of that massive use of power meaning he’d better disappear quickly. Running to the Bentley, he hopped in and drove off at top speed. Steering with one haphazard hand on the wheel, he fumbled with his left one for the radio knobs, flipping it on. 

“ _. . . guests discuss one of the greatest American novels of the 20th Century, The . . . Is that you, Crowley_?”

“Uh, yes. Just thought I’d check in after almost getting smote. The Principality Aziraphale is in town and I encountered him. I ducked out of sight, so I don’t think he actually saw it was me, just sensed it was a demon.”

“ _Good thing you didn’t get hit. The Lower-Downs have said we’re low on bodies right now. They’ll also probably want to know how long that angel’s going to be around._ ”

“No idea. Who am I talking to again?”

 _“I am Legion for we are many._ ”

“Yes, yes. Gotcha. I’ll be heading back to London to wait. Can return to try again later.”

 _“Word from Hastur is you’re to stay put until further notice. That angel is bound to leave soon. He’s rarely put on long assignments, according to our intelligence. Stay in town, Crowley._ ” The demon’s voice faded out, leaving the radio programme's host and his guests in their place. “ _But that is the subject of much speculation because . . .”_

Crowley snapped off the radio in anger. He wasn’t interested in discussion or music right now. He lost the gist of the current discussion conversing with Hell, anyway. Also, the Bentley would just invariably morph any soothing classical music he picked out into Queen like it always did. He had attempted to talk to the car about varying its interests in music, but nothing ever changed. Speeding off in silence, he spent the rest of the morning wandering aimlessly around Inverness until it was late enough to hit a pub where he would drink until the barkeep had him escorted to the door.

Muttering his annoyance, he stumbled down the street towards his ride home. The Bentley took control of the actual driving, making sure he got back to the hotel in one piece. It would never allow him to risk the life, limb and property of everyone on the road when he was in such a state. But it was upset enough at him that it cut off the speakers, meaning he had to ride home in icy silence as his car judged him.

Back at the Archives, Aziraphale calmly returned to his work, the other conservators enquiring about the booming noise from outside.

“Oh, just some loud thunder,” he replied, turning the lightbox back on and picking up the camera. “There’s a storm blowing in.”

~*~*~ 

Aziraphale had just sent his report about the smiting up to Gabriel, being careful to keep information about the demon involved vague, when Crowley came back, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the wall behind the door, head cushioned from the hard surface by his forearm. Aziraphale could hear him sigh from over by the couch. Putting down his book, he approached him.

“Crowley? Are you all right?”

“Been ordered to stay until you leave. Can’t do this, angel. Can’t.”

The demon looked up, the pain on his face evident even with his eyes well-hidden behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale felt his own heart twinge, and he risked putting a hand on his cheek. Crowley responded by laying his hand on top of Aziraphale’s, actions leading to other actions until they were fully in each other’s embrace kissing deeply and passionately. Aziraphale encountered the taste of liquor on Crowley’s tongue as he explored his mouth, the pining taking over after common sense exited the angel’s brain.

“Can we do this?”

“Yeah. Sure. ‘M fine, angel.”

Aziraphale had drunk a couple of glasses of wine himself, but he was currently feeling only a little tipsy while Crowley could barely stand upright.

They were stumbling now to the bedroom, Crowley’s leather jacket left behind on the floor somewhere along the way before they tumbled on to the bed. Aziraphale nibbled at Crowley’s neck, drinking up the sounds of his moans before he stared to tug his shirt off over his head. It was only when he had it shoved up past Crowley’s nipples that he realised how strong the scent of alcohol was coming off his friend. Aziraphale froze in horror, the reality of what he was about to do hitting him like a double-decker bus. He couldn’t move as he sat straddling Crowley, feeling the demon’s erect cock poking him in the inner thigh despite several layers of clothing between them. The slight drunkenness he was feeling evaporated as the alcohol left his bloodstream faster than it ever had before.

“Wot’s up?” 

Aziraphale could hear the slight slur to Crowley’s speech now and quickly got himself off the bed. 

“No, we cannot do anything. Not with you inebriated like this. I’m sorry, Crowley, for putting you in such a position.”

Grabbing his frock coat from the hooks behind the door, Aziraphale fled the hotel room, leaving behind a drunk and confused Crowley to wonder what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the end scene, Crowley comes back to the hotel drunk and upset he has to stay in Inverness to do his job. Aziraphale, who’s had some wine himself, tries to comfort him, but it turns to making out. Aziraphale halts the activity then leaves the hotel room before anything further occurs.
> 
> ### Footnotes
> 
> 5. Withered Hand “New Gods”↩
> 
> 6. Fairground Attraction “Whispers”↩


	4. Crash Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night's debacle causes a chain reaction in Crowley. Will he forgive Aziraphale for almost crossing the line?
> 
> (NSFW illustration)

Crowley lay on the bed, propped up on several pillows, watching as Aziraphale rushed out the door. Decades of pent-up emotions had come bursting out of the both of them at the worst possible time, and Aziraphale hadn’t even given Crowley a chance to sober up in hopes they could at least talk. Fuck, he had been so stupid. He had left the angel dangling emotionally, expecting that he’d go back to the formal friendship they had shared thousands of years ago without realising that wasn’t possible any more. Aziraphale was wearing his heart on his sleeve while Crowley had buried every feeling he experienced dealing with the angel so far down in the inner recesses of his soul that he was not aware until now of how badly Aziraphale was hurting.

It all came to the surface with a mighty pop as he sobered himself up.

Free of his self-imposed emotional isolation, Crowley wanted Aziraphale . . . wanted him so badly as he had for years, even as he denied the desires he had buried so deep he had convinced himself they would never rise again. As he shifted on the bed, the need overtook him, and he was all but forced by his own pent-up desire to take action. Decades of pining, need and want rushed forth, breaking the dam and taking Crowley along for a ride with them. He was drowning in his own emotions as he tugged off his belt, fumbling clumsily with his trousers that he unfastened before pulling them and his pants down enough to take care of the burning need he felt.

Crowley grasped his hard cock, concentrating on the head where he stimulated it through the foreskin, his touch almost too much after years of ignoring this part of his anatomy. He knelt in the middle of the bed, knees sinking into the soft mattress with his trousers shoved down in wrinkled bunches around his shins, his thumb stroking the glans while the rest of his hand moved along the shaft. It had been too damn long, he thought as he fumbled along, yanking too heavily this moment, touching in the wrong places that while his frustrated body screamed for pleasure. Finally, he got things down to a rhythm that worked for him, the awkwardness of his initial attempt giving way. His eyes were closed; his sunglasses lost somewhere between the door and the bedroom.

Physical mingled with mental, fireworks going off inside his head as sensations of all kinds crept over him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The waves were pushing him along, all those pent-up feelings like a riptide that kept pulling him under. His mind was stuck on one thought now, admitting that his love for Aziraphale had never truly gone away. It had laid dormant and forgotten in the recesses of his very soul while he held the angel at arm’s length.

He was going too fast again. Too fast for even himself as he took care of this sudden feral need that had come over him at the most inopportune time. He should be searching for Aziraphale, not wanking furiously thanks to an awakening and the forgotten love that fuelled it all. But still, his arm worked as his thoughts focused on receiving soft kisses from Aziraphale’s lips, wishing it was the angel’s hand touching him, giving him pleasure. He would return that pleasure gladly. Threefold to make up for all the mistakes of the past.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I’m sorry.” He began to cry, tears rolling down his face. “I love you, angel. Do you hear that? I love you! I admit it! You’re the most important thing in my life and I wish you were here more than anything.”

His cock became that much more rigid, and he could feel it happening — the flow starting deep inside him to burst out over his hand as he lifted his voice with it, the untamed shout sounding foreign even to him. He fell over, sobbing while he miracled the mess away before it ended up all over his thighs and the bed covers. Panting hard, he barely heard the infernal lyrics weave their way through his mind, the melody upbeat despite the melancholy words.

 _At the final moment, I cried  
I always cry at endings_ [7]

He curled in a ball, weeping until he finally fell asleep from sheer emotional exhaustion.

Crowley awoke half-dressed and atop the bed covers the next morning, his position unchanged from the night before. The only problem was, the night before was a complete blank, even though he had remembered to sober up before he fell asleep. He only knew that because he had awakened feeling physically fine with no sign of a hangover. Emotionally, he felt conflicted as fuck as he thought hard about what had happened between drinking himself stupid and falling asleep.

With some effort, he remembered stumbling into the room after getting pissed enough to get himself escorted off the pub’s premises then allowing the Bentley to drive him home — in fact, the car refused to start until he agreed to let it do the driving. He hadn’t seen it that upset with him in decades. But his recall was failing him and what had happened once he got in the door of the room remained fuzzy. Given his half-dressed appearance, he must have decided it had been a great idea to toss one off here in the room he was sharing with the angel. Wonderful. He rolled over, dressing himself again with a quick miracle, wanting to search his memories and the hotel room both.

“Aziraphale? Are you here?”

The only sound in the suite was the hum of the fridge in the kitchenette. Crowley checked his watch. It was barely six o’clock in the morning. Aziraphale should still be reading. 

Crowley pulled himself upright, dragging his body out of bed reluctantly thanks to the exhaustion he felt. He still had his shoes on, but his leather jacket was on the floor. Picking it up, he hung it on the pegs behind the room’s door, noting Aziraphale’s was missing. Did he go to breakfast already? 

Yes?

No?

Why was there this tingling in the back of his mind like he was missing an important part of this picture? He gazed again upon the wall past the coat hooks, placing an arm on it, then his head on his sleeve, leaning in to remember. He was here, Aziraphale approaching to ask what was wrong. That was no big deal, so why were alarm bells going off in his head? Why did he feel like he should be staring at a large red flag waving in front of his face?

 _Still I can’t find you  
Just as things were looking up  
We're fucked  
Don't panic  
Because there's nothing here to fear_ [8]

Don’t panic? Every instinct in him was telling him this was the perfect opportunity to panic. He closed his eyes, forehead against his arm still, the memories coming back bit by bit like a trail of breadcrumbs he was required to follow. He heard himself speak, parroting exactly what he said last night.

“Been ordered to stay until you leave. Can’t do this, angel. Can’t.”

He felt Aziraphale’s hand on his cheek, invisible this time, but very real last night. Those sky blue eyes stared at him, worried about his drunken turn towards negativity, and suddenly they were kissing. Crowley sucked in a breath as he recalled it, remembering how it had started innocent then turned passionate as they eagerly tasted each other, his arms snaking around Aziraphale to bring his soft body closer, the angel moaning as he pulled Crowley towards the bed. Present Crowley followed along, remembering here was the exact spot his jacket hit the floor as Aziraphale yanked it down in order to leave little nibbles along his collarbones. He had removed his hands from Aziraphale for as long as it took to allow it to slide off his arms onto the carpet. 

_Oh, God . . . Aziraphale . . . If only I had been sober . . ._

Crowley knew that they wouldn’t have been able to do anything last night. He had been too drunk for that to be a consideration and too depressed to sober up, but that didn’t mean the emotions weren’t there, or that he wouldn’t have been receptive this morning if Aziraphale had been here to renew his advances. The thought of the angel kissing him, taking him in his arms to continue nibbling down from his collarbones before undressing him then breaking through his walls with pure angelic love had awakened a fire in Crowley.

Grabbing his leather jacket, he rushed out the door.

~*~*~

Aziraphale was peckish this morning, but he got on with his work, not wanting to leave the Archives to venture out into the city where there was a chance he’d run into Crowley. It was a very small chance, given the Highland Games had filled the city with participants and spectators, but he was taking no chances after the inexcusable behaviour he had displayed last night. What was he going to say to Crowley? Was he ever going to be able to face the demon again? He might have lost Crowley forever, and he wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to speak to him again. There was nothing he could say that would make what he did right.

Well, he had work to do and just better get on with it, so he could flee back to his beloved bookshop when these last two documents were restored. He didn’t know what he would do about Crowley’s mission, other than what he had already done, which was to inform Heaven that a demon was hanging around. They would keep a watchful eye on things. He would leave a note for Crowley to be careful as Aziraphale would not throw Crowley to the mercies of Archangels if he could do even the least bit to prevent it.

He looked over the photographs he took yesterday of the next document to restore and laid them out on the table before him to look over for damage. Picking up one of the ones he took of it backlit on the lightbox, he analysed a previous restoration that had employed a full work-up, coating the entire back of the document in Japanese tissue, leaving important words blurred thanks to the fixatives used. He was going to have to carefully peel the document off the restoration work while hoping he didn’t need to employ a few miracles.

“Morning, Aziraphale,” said one of his co-workers upon entering the restoration area with a cup of coffee she carried to her desk where all drinks had to remain for the safety of the documents. “You’re here early.”

“Morning, Lizzie. This one is going to give me fits. I thought I’d get an early start on it.”

It was the truth if only half of it. He had been here since he fled the hotel room, looping the security cameras with a miracle, a trick learned from Crowley. Nobody suspected his presence here before he wanted it noticed. When the guards made their rounds, they perceived neither him nor the lights on in the restoration department. He had finished up with his previous document, storing it away properly in the special room designed for delicate ageing paper where it would last for many more years before needing to be examined for decay again.

The lights flickered briefly around ten o’clock, causing all the restoration department to look up at the ceiling while complaining about how unreliable the power was at times. Aziraphale stopped his work which involved using a silver spatula-like tool to separate the damaged document he was working on from the degraded tissue. Angels did not share in demons’ ability to see in the dark.

Instead, he set it aside and brought out the last of the documents he had to work on to examine foxed corners under a large lighted magnifying glass mounted on his workbench. Bringing it close, he was able to identify the exact spore causing the blemishes, scribbling down what he had discovered in a notebook for future reference. Four different mildew spores caused the red spotting and identification of the type dictated what kind of wash was used to remove it from the paper.

Two seconds after he laid down his pen, the entire room lost electricity until the sluggish emergency lights kicked in a minute later, allowing the department to empty. No windows existed in the restoration room, meaning they were left in total darkness while those emergency lamps flickered slowly to life. Emerging in the main offices which boasted natural light, Aziraphale took a seat at an empty desk and stared out on the expanse of grass before the Archives through the decorative slats that crossed the windows. The humans gossiped while he sat with arms crossed twisting the office chair slightly from side to side.

“You okay, Aziraphale?” asked one of the office ladies whom he had had several nice conversations with in his time here.

“Oh, yes. I was just in the middle of getting some tissue paper off a wonderful old map of Inverness-shire when we lost power.”

She sympathised with him, starting up a conversation that lasted for half an hour before the department head decided to make a few phone calls. After hanging up the phone, she got everyone’s attention, the low buzz of speech stopping when she raised her voice. Aziraphale and the office worker looked in her direction.

“Maintenance can’t seem to figure out what’s going on and electric is on its way as soon as possible, but it could take several hours to restore power. It seems quite a few of their vans are experiencing mechanical problems today. Take the rest of the day off. There’s no point sitting around in the dark when nothing can get done.”

Aziraphale knew exactly what was going on, and he wondered with a sinking feeling why Crowley would even want to come here at all. Maybe the electrical problems were a bit of punishment for last night and really, Aziraphale deserved it after what he had done. Sighing, he bid everyone goodbye and headed back to his desk where he sat under the soft light of his own halo that he had pulled into the physical plane. He should just head out to lunch then he could in good conscience use a miracle to transport back to his bookshop in London for the night if he returned in the morning. Gabriel hadn’t been on him about miracles since the late 1700s. He could make the excuse he had to return to hunt down a restoration tool he had forgotten but needed or some other kind of excuse for his brief return to the bookshop.

He couldn’t return to the hotel room. He just couldn’t.

A hand reached out to softly tap him on the shoulder, causing him to jump. He turned to find Crowley squinting at him, barely holding it together as he was bathed in the holy light of Aziraphale’s halo. The way he was shifting while attempting to suppress grimaces of pain gave away his discomfort. Stupidly, the demon was not making any attempt to turn the regular human-made lighting back on, focusing completely on the angel. Aziraphale switched to a miracle-created light that wouldn’t harm Crowley as he gave him a sad smile.

“You’re going to burn yourself. Again.”

“I don’t care. I think we need to talk.

Crowley seated himself at the desk next to Aziraphale’s, leaning back in the office chair and staring expectantly at his counterpart. Aziraphale blushed, looking away.

“But you don’t ever want to talk lately,” the angel said softly.

“And that’s wrong of me. I’m sorry. Something has awakened in me and . . . it hasn’t gone away.”

“Oh, Crowley. I made a huge mistake last night. I had no right to kiss you or perform any of the other actions I did. It was inappropriate when you were in the condition you were in. I don’t know if apologising will even be enough.”

“Did we do anything beyond some making out?”

“No. But I climbed onto your lap, Crowley. I was taking off your shirt.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Okay, so you did and that was wrong to go down that path, but you stopped yourself before you did something we both would have regretted. Neither of us was in the right frame of mind last night. We were both under the influence of alcohol which was dumb.”

Aziraphale fidgeted awkwardly, his hands clasped in his lap with his gaze focused on them. He appeared to be on the verge of crying. Crowley leaned forward and put his hand out, allowing it to hover above Aziraphale’s, asking if it was all right to touch him. Aziraphale reached up to grasp it, bringing it down into his lap where he held it between both of his own hands in a gentle squeeze. 

"Will you forgive me for being an absolute prat for all these years? All I needed to do was open up my mouth to have a civil discussion with you, yet I couldn’t.”

Aziraphale reached up to wipe away a tear that had escaped from the corner of his sky blue eye, a small smile crossing his face. “Well, I suppose we could forgive each other?”

“May I hug you?”

“Of course.”

Standing up, they approached each other for an awkward hug, both skewing the same direction at first before getting it right. The clumsiness of it all didn’t matter, both of them realised as they stood between the office chairs embracing under the soft blue-white light conjured by Aziraphale. What mattered was they might be stepping onto the path of forgiveness after thirty years.

“What does this mean?” asked Aziraphale, his voice barely above a whisper, hoping with every fibre of his celestial being that Crowley's response would carry them further down that path.

“It means we start healing, angel.”

~*~*~

It was interesting back at the hotel room where the two sat on the couch together side by side, legs touching from thigh to shin. It was a tentative touch, for now, one that was unsure but spoke of more to come. Thirty-six years had happened between Crowley initially walking out and now. Both of them were well aware that they couldn’t just hop into old routines again as if the past three and a half decades had never occurred. They were going to have to heal together to see where their feelings took them. Still, here they were. Crowley was sitting next to Aziraphale in a way he hadn’t for decades, sharing a quick lunch of Chinese takeaway.

It wasn’t the best, given how spoilt they had been by dining on the finest haute-cuisine London had to offer, but the meal was made better by the company. Aziraphale laughed at a joke Crowley made as they munched on noodles soaked in unidentifiable sauce, a dish the little restaurant touted as “authentic” Chinese food. Crowley was at ease, talking animatedly for the first time since Aziraphale stepped out of the Bentley back in the late sixties. Aziraphale looked adoringly at him as he listened to the demon tell yet another tale, catching him up on missed pranks. It was in its own way, a strange version of perfection, Aziraphale decided. After the rift they had experienced, this change in their relationship was a needed breath of fresh air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 7. Belle and Sebastian “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying”↩
> 
> 8. Twin Atlantic “Crash Land”↩


End file.
